


you'll still be there in the morning

by orphan_account



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: (Just mentions, Angst, Bottom Edward, Confessions, Feelings, M/M, Not really a sad fic just mentions sad things, Past Rape/Non-con, Psychoanalysis, Rough Sex, Self-Harm, Smut, Top Jonathan, no descriptions)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 17:16:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7182122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What categorises this 'personal attachment'? What does this 'deep affection' consist of? It is not clear. And I have never known. I have never experienced feelings I would associate with love before."</p><p>---</p><p>First and foremost, Jonathan is a psychologist. And Edward Nygma is an emotional wreck. Throw  rough sex and discussions of the definition of love into the mix, and you have "you'll still be there in the morning".</p>
            </blockquote>





	you'll still be there in the morning

"Is this okay?"

"I- why are you asking me that?"

Jonathan pauses and gives him a disbelieving stare.

"I mean, why do you care? Why are you- why would you-"

"Edward."

Ed shuts up. Jonathan tilts his head, still straddling him with their fingers intertwined.

"It's generally considered normal for sexual partners to be certain the other is consenting," Jonathan tells him patiently.

His underlying concern is not for Edward to hear.

"This isn't normal," Ed breathes. "We aren't. Normal."

"You've had sex before?"

"Yes!"

Jonathan raises an eyebrow.

"I _have_."

"Then surely you are not foreign to the concept of making sure one's partner is comfortable?"

Edward opens his mouth to answer then closes it again.

"Edward?"

Ed sighs. "It's just never happened that way before. For me."

"Are you telling me you've been raped?" Jonathan asks sharply, too quick for it to sound indifferent.

Edward looks shocked. "That's not- no- it wasn't-"

"If you didn't consent, that's what it is."

He is quiet for a second, and Jonathan moves backwards. Edward looks vulnerable now. He swallows. "I did consent," he says softly. "My- _partner_  just didn't ask what you asked. They just got on with it."

Jonathan exhales. He tugs Edward closer on impulse. "'They' plural?"

"... Yes."

"We don't have to do this."

Edward tenses beneath him. "I _want_  to."

"Do you really? Do you know what 'this' is? Because I don't believe you _have_  had sex .  
Not like it should be."

"What _should_  it be like?" Edward snarls. "Don't tell me you don't want to hurt me. You don't care for me or how I feel. I'm just an easy fuck."

Jonathan lets Ed struggle out from his loose embrace and turn to face him accusingly.

"I do want to hurt you," he answers softly. Edward's eyes widen. "But I also care for you, and how you feel."

"That doesn't make sense."

Jonathan watches him intently. He looks angry, but an _embarassed_  angry. Self directed anger. He also looks beautiful, no other word for it, flushed and skin exposed, cock flagging and lips swollen from Jonathan's fierce kisses.

"Talk to me," the doctor says.

"I don't need therapy."

"I'm not offering therapy. I want to make you feel good. But not if that's not what you want."

"I do," Edward says, almost plaintive, someone broken, desperately ashamed. 

"You have to tell me what you want."

"I want what you want."  
"Now, that's not a proper answer. You know it. It implies you are doing this for me, to please me, rather than doing something pleasurable that we can share."

"Don't you fucking psychoanalyze me!"

"Edward, please."

Edward starts crying then. He clenches his fists in frustration but doesn't fight when Jon goes to him, lets himself be held. 

"I can't explain, Jon," Ed says softly. "It may not be right but it's just the way I feel. I want what you want. I need you to do whatever you want, and it'll be good for me."

"I can do that for you, and I understand why. But that, what you just said, is a product of abuse. You can't, won't take control because you're so used to having it taken from you." 

"Jon!" Edward snaps, infuriated. "I'm a person. I'm not a test subject. Stop. Stop. Please," his voice tails off to little more than a pleading whisper. "I just want you."

Jonathan nods. Edward sighs in shaky relief. The doctor draws him closer and rests his hands on his shoulders.

"May I kiss you?" Jon asks wryly.

"You may," Edward answers with a shy grin.  
Jon leans in to press their mouths together, gentle at first but quickly superseded by Ed's needy impatience. The shorter man crowds against him, nails digging into his arms. 

"Rough?" Jon asks.

" _Please_ ," comes the breathless answer, and then Jon has him pinned against the wall.

"If you want me to stop-"

"For FUCK'S SAKE-"

Jon laughs, then bites Edward's neck, hard, eliciting a gasp and the man to grind against him. 

His hands grip the other man's hips hard enough to leave bruises as he sucks possessive marks onto Edward's skin. 

"Jon," Edward whines, fingers scratching at the wall. One hand goes to relieve the pressure on his swollen cock, but Jonathan knocks it away. 

"Be good for me," he murmurs, feeling Ed shiver beneath him.

He leans back to snatch the lube from the table and coats his fingers with it. Ed arches his back as he pushes two fingers inside him, stretching him to the bare minimum before he withdraws.

"Jon, I'm- I need-"

"What do you need?"

"You. I-"

It's wonderful to have him squirming beneath him torn between impatience, need and shame, but Jonathan gives him what he needs, lubing his cock and pushing it against Ed's ass.

There's a moment where the only sound is their hitched breathing and the only movement is the rapid rise and fall of Ed's chest.

"Please," Ed says involuntarily.

Jonathan slides deeper inside, slick and tight. 

"I won't be gentle," he tells him, steadying his breathing at the dizzying feel of his cock in Ed's ass. 

He splays his hands on either side of Ed, presses him flush against the wall and starts to fuck into him earnestly.

Ed can only manage breathless moans, biting his lip and pushing back to meet his thrusts.

"Please, harder, fuck-"

Ed cries out when Jonathan finds the angle to brush his prostate. 

"Harder?" Jon says, viciously triumphant.

"Ye-ah, I can take it, c-come on."

 Jon isn't sure if Ed knows what he's in for. He curls his fingers in Ed's hair and yanks his head back, resulting in a startled, pained yelp. He slams into him as hard as he can, the nails of his other hand raking down his back, teeth sinking into Ed's exposed neck. Every thrust is met with a bitten off moan or helpless whimper. God, he's so _loud_ , and _fuck_  if it isn't hot as hell.

"I'm- oh, Jon- I'm gonna come-"

Jon grins, tightens his grip on Ed's hair and wraps his other hand round the man's leaking cock. 

Just a few more strokes and Edward shoves his hand into his mouth to muffle a scream as he comes, spilling over Jon's hand.  
Jonathan isn't far behind.

"Can I-"

"Yes," Ed pants, struggling to keep himself up and shaking with overstimulation.

Jon feels the pleasure build and he gasps out Ed's name, coming hard inside him.  
They sink to the floor, an exhausted, excited tremor running through them both.  
Jon slips out and pulls Ed against his chest. They sit letting their heartbeats recover. 

"Eddie," he says gently. He shifts to let Ed rest against the wall and studies him, eyes half lidded, whole body covered in hickeys and bruises and livid red nail marks, come leaking from his ass and smeared over his softening cock.

"Eddie."

Ed opens one eye and gives this wonderful little half smile, that makes Jon suddenly realise he'd do almost anything to see it again.

"You alright?" he says, more tenderly than he'd like.

"'M very good," Ed replies quietly, giving a soft, contented huff. "Thank you."

"Would you like a shower?"

"Sleep."

"You can sleep here. After a shower. I mean, if you want."

Ed makes a shaky attempt to stand, stumbling a little. He winces in pain. Jon helps him, though he doesn't feel too steady himself. They climb into shower together, Jon gingerly cleaning them up and Ed watching him with this odd light in his eyes.

They don't dress, just slip under warm bedcovers and Ed curls up instantly next to him, head resting in the crook of his arm.

"You alright?" 

Ed smiles, and Jon can't see.

"For someone who kills without mercy, makes terror their business, has no qualms about torturing anyone in the most psychologically twisted ways imaginable, claims to be completely uninterested in friendship or romance... that's quite an affectionate thing to say."

Jon exhales. Yes, it is. What _is_  he doing here?

"And, I'm fine," Ed continues. "I think. I- I was thinking about what you said."

"Can I turn the light on?"

"No."

"Okay, go on."

"It's not just a sex thing. Like, it's to do with relationships. I don't... what you said about control. You're right. I mean. I- I don't know what I'm trying to say," Ed finishes frustratedly. He huffs.

"I could try?"

"Try _what_?"

"What you're going to say."

"You don't know what I'm going to do, Jonathan," is the acidic reply.

"I'm... sorry. I know that. But... I have studied psychology for many years. I know about behaviour, I know about the effects things can have on people. And I know you, Edward. Don't I?"

Ed swallows. And after a moment- "Yes."

"You've had bad interactions before and you don't have any experience of good ones. So when someone shows you affection, or cares for your wants and needs, you don't know how to process it."

Ed is very quiet. 

"It's okay to be like that."

"It's not."

"Why?"

"It's not fair on you. You said it yourself. 'Normal sexual partners'. I can't do it, I can't say what I want. Why should you be so patient?" 

"I want to. If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be."

Ed goes silent again. 

"The rich men want it, the wise men know it, the poor all need it, and the kind men show it. What am I?" he says eventually.

Jon breathes out steadily. "What are you trying to say?"

If the lights were on, Jonathan would see Ed is completely blushing.

"I just. I wanted to know how you define it."

"Love?"

There is just quiet.

"I... I don't. Define it." He pauses, gathering his thoughts. "Many define love as a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person... or a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend."

"You've memorised the dictionary definition?"

"So have you."

"Touché."

"But that does not define it for me personally. What categorises this 'personal attachment'? What does this 'deep affection' consist of? It is not clear. And I have never known. I have never experienced feelings I would associate with love before."

Edward hasn't moved an inch. 

Both of them desperately want to see the expression on the other's face. 

"How do _you_  define it?" the doctor returns finally.

Edward turns his head away. "I don't know," he replies, like he's deeply tired and disappointed, and that wasn't his original answer.

Many minutes seem to pass during which neither of them talk, but neither of them fall asleep. 

"Ed."

"Jonathan."

"Could I... could I describe my feelings for someone, and you tell me if you'd consider it love?"

... "Certainly."

Jonathan takes a deep breath. "This person regularly annoys me greatly. In any other circumstance, I would not continue to associate with them or I would wish to cause them physical harm. The latter happens often but I do not act on it. When we share physical contact, I find I enjoy it, but not with anyone else. I often worry about this person and if they are alright, and if they aren't, what I could to do help them. When they are happy, I feel glad that they are happy. When they are sad, I want to change that. I feel protective and caring over them. I have engaged in sexual activity with them, and found it to be exciting and rewarding, but additionally, I was concerned with their enjoyment of the experience. And my mind no longer refers to us as simply friends, but something more complex that it cannot describe."

The only sound when he finishes is the ticking of the clock.

"You do know you can love a friend."

"Can you?" Jonathan answers mildly and genuinely.

"My conclusion to that," Ed says tonelessly, "is that _I_  cannot define your feelings for someone else. Only you can decide if you love someone. But," he adds, softer, "I personally would consider those feelings 'love' if I harbored them for someone else."

"If?"

"Of course not _if_!" Edward shouts suddenly, sitting up. "I fucking love you, okay? Can you get any more cryptic?"

Jonathan turns on the light. Edward's face is streaked with tears, his arms littered with bitter, anxious marks from his own fingernails.

The doctor is sort of frozen there, knows what he should do but can't bring himself to do it. And then Edward rakes his nails through his skin again, bloody furrows that make in hiss in pain.

"Edward!" Jonathan yells. He leaps forward, prises his hands away and does the only thing he can think to do; kisses him hard, shocked and angry.

Edward's breathing is ragged. His arms are a mess, his eyes red from crying. What Jonathan says next could depend on Ed's mental health, or what's left of it, because he doesn't believe anyone has seen Ed so vulnerable. It shouldn't be him. It shouldn't; only so long before he slips up- but he can try.

"I can't say I love you," Jonathan starts, speaking fast and grasping Ed's wrists tightly. "It would be insincere. I have told you, I don't know what love is, I've never experienced it before. You," he says, painfully honest, uncovering the truth to _himself_ , "are the first. And all those things I said, about you, they're true. You said- you said you'd consider them love, if it was you. So then, I guess I do. By your standards, Edward, I love you. It's just... my standards I'm not sure of. Do you understand? You are very important to me. Please don't hurt yourself," he finishes, not even shameful of the exhausted and pleading tone that's crept into his voice.

Edward cries some more. Wraps his bloody arms around Jonathan's neck and kisses him, hot and sad and open mouthed.  
And the doctor kisses back, trying to convey just as much.

"What am I to you?" Ed whispers against his lips.

"I-"

"Am I your friend? Boyfriend? Partner? Lover?"

They kiss again.

"Ed. You're Edward. To me. You're mine."

"Okay," Edward says shakily. "Okay."

They sit there, tangled up and tired, emotionally drained. Not quite sad, not happy either.

"We're going to go to sleep," Ed tells him. "And you'll still be there in the morning."

"I will."

"And I'll make you coffee and we'll sit in bed and then we'll both go to work and everything will be normal."

"Alright."

"Is it really?

"Yes. It's fine. It's more than fine. Come to bed."

So they lie back down, turn off the light. Ed shuffles as close as he can, and Jonathan wraps his arm round the small frame. 

"I love you," Ed says again, less aggressively, stating the fact like a reminder lest they ever forget.

In the dark, Jonathan kisses him again, clumsy but with a clear message.

Then they go to sleep, and Jon is still there in the morning. Ed makes him coffee, and they sit in bed together doing the crossword. Then they go to work. And they fuck at the end of the day, with inevitable blood and bruises and psychoanalysis. And everything isn't normal, far from it.

It's blissfully abnormal. It's love and it's not. It's Edward Nygma and Jonathan Crane.

**Author's Note:**

> This took me all day to write. All. Day. My hands are aching. I'm pleased, though.


End file.
